Cries of Anguish
by pottermommy1118
Summary: Harry's first Halloween after the Final Battle. His return to the cottage. Written for a one shot competition.


**_AHhhhhhhhhhhhhhh My computer got water on it so I had to redo this whole thing._**

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**_One Day One Shot competition story._**

**_Theme: Anything Halloween related or Scary_**

**Cries of Anguish**

The sun had fallen hours ago. The once pinkish purple hues that lit up the Autumn sky had darkened and turned to an inky blue black, speckled with the random star that was barely visible through the dusting of gray clouds. Harry watched as the clouds skated across the sky. He had been sitting here, on this balcony overlooking London for the better part of the day. He didn't move often, he had been content to watch the people walk below, and to watch as the sky seemed to waiver between rain and maybe just holding it in for the day. While it made for a cloudy dismal day, the cloud cover and eerie moonlight made for a very perfect night to celebrate the particular holiday. He sighed slightly at the thought, for what was probably the hundredth time in an hour.

Today, was Halloween. But it wasn't just ANY Halloween, it was the first Halloween that he could ever remember truly being free to do what he wanted. For years he was with his aunt and uncle, being kept from any festivities that seemed so exciting to him as a child. Then he was at Hogwarts, where 6 years of Halloween memories filled his head, most of them were amazing…with the exception of finding Mrs. Norris nearly dead in his second year…he could live without that one… Then there was last year, he had been hunting and on the run. He had been no closer to true freedom then than he had been when he lived with the Dursley's. But this year…this year was different.

So much had changed since the final battle nearly 6 months ago. For starters, he was in Auror training, and he had already achieved his NEWTS ahead of schedule. He was working flat out most of the time, he wanted to be through with training within two years instead of three, he wanted to prove that the chance the Auror department had given him was not in vain. He was succeeding, and to be honest, he loved it there. At the end of the battle he had been given the option, like everyone in his year, to repeat their 7th year at Hogwarts, or to move on. Many of his class chose to go back. 'One last chance of childhood, a chance at a normal school year.' And Harry had to admit, it sounded appealing, far more appealing than he told anyone. But there were just a few problems with that. Firstly, he knew he'd never be able to be "normal" while there were still rogue death eaters on the loose. He would think about them, and he would be more concerned with them than school. Secondly, Harry had changed…he couldn't be carefree and normal, and a child. He wasn't a child. Too much had changed within him, and he had trouble hiding it here in the real world…hiding it there would be impossible. And lastly, Hogwarts, the place that had once been home, once been comforting and felt like being enveloped in welcoming arms…was no longer that place.

It was true. At one time, Hogwarts had been all he wanted and needed. But now, the school didn't only hold memories of triumphs, quidditch and friendship. It wasn't only the place that shaped him, and showed him who he really was. Hogwarts held ghosts and demons. It clung to his sorrow, fears and loss like it fed off them. He would always remember what the school was for him, he would always have a fond spot for it and fond memories. But being there made it impossible to control the dark memories that always lurked on the edges of his mine. When he was there, sometimes they took over completely. A hallway of laughing students became a battleground of war torn bodies, echoing cries of the wounded and heartbroken. The great hall became an open tomb, singing the songs of tears and despair. The sunset on the lake looked like fire and the howls in the forest at night sounded like pain. It was something he couldn't get past in the days after the war…and it was something he knew he couldn't survive for an entire year.

Because he knew he needed time, time to recover, time to build, time to learn who he was, Harry took the chance with the Aurors. He wasn't the only one that took the break away. Ron had decided to help George run the shop for a while. He hadn't been able to open it on his own…his own demons haunting him. Ron had stepped up and been there, he helped with everything, and slowly, George was making his way back to them all. He wasn't exactly who he had been before, but he was showing signs of his former self now…he didn't seem to be a shadow of what he once was. Ron had said he owed a lot of the recent improvements in George to Angelina.

Harry looked at the twinkling stars as the clouds passed and left a gap, letting the deep blue show clearly. He ran a hand down his face when he thought of Ron. Generally he would be home by now. But Halloween was one of the shop's busiest days, and George had been particularly upset about today. Harry had found out a week ago that he himself had the day off, and offered to work with Ron and George, but both of them refused to let him, saying he needed a break. It was unusual for him to be off work in the middle of the week. But about midday, the reasoning occurred to him. As he stared out at the street and his thoughts fell upon his mother and father. Today…Today was 17 years since they died. Today was the anniversary not only of their death but of the last time he knew what it was to know a parent's love. Today was not a day of treats, and costumes, and pranks…today for him, was a day of the deepest kind of loss.

He had tried to push it back, he even tried to go into the offices and get them to let him train. In turn, he had been accosted by reporters and turned away by the head Auror. They told him he needed to take the time. Do anything, but don't come there. So he returned to his and Ron's flat in London. He paced and he cleaned. YES HE CLEANED. He talked to himself and he stared at walls, but mostly, he sat on this balcony. Usually when his thoughts strayed down paths dark and emotional, he went to the office, he worked in the training rooms, he chased death eaters. It was great for anger release…But now, he was stuck here. So he sat here, in this chair, on this balcony, looking at this street. In fact, the only time since 4 PM he had moved was to go to the muggle liquor store and get alcohol. Now, he sat alone, on a chair, on the balcony with a half drank bottle of Vodka and NOTHING he did could keep his thoughts out of Godric's Hollow.

He warred with his mind, knowing there would be people there today of all days, remembering his visit last Christmas, and again shortly after the final battle. But…it wasn't the graves, or the fence post that was calling him tonight. It was the house, it was the steps he knew his father died on, the nursery he knew his mother screamed in. Finally, with all the courage afforded him by the Vodka and Gryffindor himself, Harry stood and apparated on the spot.

Seconds later he stood at the gates of the home of his infancy, relieved when no one else appeared to be milling about. He stared at the old ricked fence that stood between him and the broken, dilapidated cottage and for a solid minute was left breathless and terrified of what he was about to do. The house was his, it had been in the files he viewed at Gringotts. It became his when he reached 17 years old, along with every other Potter and Black, share hold, property, estate, and heirloom. He was the only person alive who could cross this gate. He was the only one the protections would allow. His eyes took in the moss covered roof and broken door. The once high grass was brown and dead from the approaching winter and was lower than it was in May when he last saw it. This wasn't a place he visited often, it was as haunting as Hogwarts was. But tonight…tonight he owed it to his parents to be here. He owed it to himself to do this…to FINALLY do this.

He pushed the gate open gently, a bit afraid it was going to fall off its hinges, or that the property was going to fling him backwards. But neither happened, he stepped through and closed it behind him, before lifting his wand. He held it loosely in a shaking hand, walking the broken and overgrown path to the splintered door that still lay half off its hinges. He side stepped it easily, his auror and quidditch training aiding his lithe movements. Without speaking he lit his wand as he put a gentle foot into the house, the other following quickly. Maybe coming at night was stupid…it made the whole thing seem nerve wracking, suffocating. But it also felt right, even with all his nerves on end and his heart thudding in his chest.

His beam of light played over a fireplace mantle that held dust covered frames. He glanced once at the stairs but took the moment to walk to the pictures, he lifted one after the other, wiping the dust and age old soot on his shirt, trying his best to clean them before putting them back in their place. The frames depicted a life that he wished he could remember. Moving images of a smiling laughing baby in the company of his parents and his parents' friends. There was a picture of a great black dog laying on the floor, looking moodily at the camera with a bouncing toddler on its back. One of a small baby with tufts of jet black hair in the arms of a very nervous looking Remus Lupin. A photo of a stunning red head woman, dancing with the same baby, just after his birth, staring into the infant's face, tears streaming down her own. It wasn't until then that he realized that he too had tears rolling unrestrained down his face. He picked up the final photograph to look into his father's face, one that looked so like his own. James was holding a wiggly, giggling toddler by the back straps of a pair of overalls, both of them were covered in what appeared to be flour and both of them were laughing.

Suddenly, an immense anger filled Harry….an anger that he was sure he had never felt in his life, not even when feeling Voldemort's anger had it felt like this, a bone burning anger that was so deep it hurt. He looked to the hall and walked to the stairs, staring at the place that he knew from Voldemort's own memories that his father had fallen. When the anger burned hot again he couldn't take it. He threw the frame into wall, watching as it shattered to pieces before him.

"I HATE YOU!" he screamed at the picture, his words coming out choked and angry.

"I HATE EVERYTHING YOU DID!" he cried, letting words that he had held onto for so long, just pour out of him, the day being more than he could bear, he couldn't hold it anymore.

"YOU LEFT! YOU LEFT ME! YOU LEFT ME TO DO IT ALONE!" Harry breathed deeply and dropped to his knees, silently wishing he could still feel the warmth his father's body had left there instead of the cold, broken floor.

"You left." He said desperately, quietly. In those moments, it didn't matter that they had died protecting him. It didn't matter that their deaths had led to the end of the war, or that they were war heroes, or selfless, or amazing, or anything else. What mattered is that 17 years ago, they had left him alone, and in moments like right now, he still felt that way, like a small boy, in an upturned crib on Halloween. Broken, scarred, terrified, abandoned and alone.

Parents were not meant to leave their child at such a young age. Before they could fully understand or even remember what knowing them was like. Instead of childhood memories there was a void that was unfillable….left to fester and fill with anger and despair. Overflowing with love that could not and would not be returned, not like it should have been. Not with hugs or kisses, there would be no words of encouragement or advice for children or marriage, because they had left. They had made the ultimate sacrifice for their son, one that he could never fully repay.

Harry scrubbed the tears off his face only to let more replace them. The tears were not healing, they were not comforting, they were out of character, and more than he knew how to handle. He tried to push them back but they continued to fall, sealing the day with his long pent up anguish. Harry would grow to have many Halloween memories, the ones in the past, and the ones in the future. Memories that would contain his wife and children laughing. Memories that he would cherish forever. But none would change him like this one. This Halloween would forever show him that hiding something within yourself does not make it disappear, it only makes it more surprising when you find it.

As his tears poured into the dust covered ground of his childhood home, slowly silencing as the night passed on and Halloween disappeared, becoming a new day, a new month, Harry's cries became raw, broken, private, and quiet much like the house itself.


End file.
